» Dad stories

Laughter is the best medicine
Helping father clear up autumn leaves in back garden. Father leans rake against swings to free up hands for holding binbag. Unawares, son takes step forward and receives a MIGHTY RAKESPANG! to the side of the head. Son goes down like he's been halfbricked. Son wakes up to see father crying. 'It's ok dad, I'm not dead,' son reassures. Unnecessarily – for Father is crying with laughter.

Length? A lifetime of schadenfreude.
(Thu 25th Nov 2010, 12:31, More)

» Dad stories

Watched too much Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles..
...as a seven-year-old, and decided that I wanted to eat a chocolate spread and marshmallow pizza. After somehow persuading mum to buy the bases and ingredients, she went out for the evening leaving my dad 'in charge' of proceedings.

Little sister (all of five) and I rarely played well together at that age, so we huffily made one massive gooey chocolate aberration each, secretly rapt by the fact that we'd each managed to get that much glorious chocolate into a single meal.

Now we had two (uncooked) nine-inch pizzas, smeared in Nutella, and then generously topped with big, fluffy, marshmallows. Clearly dazed by the fact that he'd been left in charge, and horrified by what his children had created, we were then told in calm clear tones that would would not be allowed to leave the table until we'd finished what we'd made. He wanted us to eat a pizza each.

The next half an hour passed in a spinny, vomit-inducing terror of sugar, tears and plaintive cries. Both sister and I were slumped over the table covered in frothy sugar-barf by the time he came to his senses and whipped us upstairs for an emergency bath before mum got home.

I still can't eat marshmallows.
(Mon 29th Nov 2010, 15:09, More)

» Airport Stories

Salaryman slap
/unlurk

For those of you who've been to Tokyo, you'll know just how immense Narita Airport is.I've turned up three hours early for my flight to Sydney just to make sure that all runs smoothly. Imagine my distress when I get to the aircraft-hangar sized check in lounge to discover that the baggage handlers are on strike and there are queues running the length of the place.

After enduring two hours of having my ankles rammed by small children with luggage trollies, I made it to customs only to find yet another monstrous queue waiting to entrap me. Another 45 minutes later and I'm sweating with worry that I'll miss my (due to leave in 15 mins) flight.

Anyway, two nice Belgian chaps let me jump to the front, the passport is duly stamped, and I'm off across the departure lounge like a rabbit fired from a grenade launcher. Three hours of constant caffination provide me with the speed and agility of a greased cat as I bob and weave through the crowd toward my gate.

This all suddenly goes into slow motion as my fashionably 'phat' trainer sails from my foot on its upswing and arcs across the lounge at mach 2 and then connects with the back of a Japanese salaryman's head with a satisfying 'thwok'.

He was angry. I bowed and scraped like a peasant (cunningly sweeping up my trainer at the same time) and legged it for the gate with enraged shouty salaryman in tow. At this point I'm fully expecting to be ritually decapitated. The air hostess at the gate looked at me like I was last week's airline dinner, but she still let me on the plane.

Karma was forthcoming though, I also lost my gameboy on that dash, forcing me to watch Ice Age six times in a row.

No apologies for length, you'll just have to stand further away.

/lurk
(Fri 3rd Mar 2006, 11:04, More)

» Vandalism

Legitimised vandalism
At the same school as my last post in this QOTW (but before being slung out) our headmaster interrupts his normal assembly address to ask for volunteers. Myself and a couple of chums slung up our arms, and were duly chosen for a special task - smashing up the sixth-form pool table, which was being replaced.

Given a selection of hammers and axes, we were told that we could do as we pleased, provided that the valuable slate came off in one piece. We merrily chopped, hacked, stomped, splintered, crunched and smashed our way through the next two school periods until we were left with a pile of woody bits, the coin mechanism (which I took home as a trophy) and the pool balls. The school groundsman came and set light to our pile of achievement, congratulated us (swore), and sauntered off.

Now, given that this great big blaze was on the same day as PE, half-empty deoderant cans were lobbed on the fire as soon as the groundsman turned his back. We were treated to a rippling CRACKcrackCRACKCRACKcrack as they went off in quick succession - broad grins were exchanged. We eyed the faux-ivory pool balls.

On the fire they went.

As we legged it to the safety of a hedge, we spotted the school badboi (innit) saunter up and add his deoderant can to the pile. He must have got the shock of his life – instead of one measly 'crack', he was treated to a juddering calamity of explosions as several of the plastic balls went at once. The other balls went off shortly after - neatly drowning out the headmaster's vitriol-filled ravings as he raced up to Mr Badboi and accused him of trying to blow up the school.

This was fun for, ooh, all of thirty seconds, before I discovered that my warm glow of satisfaction was in fact a slightly on-fire jumper.
(Mon 11th Oct 2010, 15:45, More)

» Unexpected Nudity

Eyebleach please
Walking through Waterloo station, I sauntered gently over to the screens that tell what trains are departing from Waterloo East. Having got my train time, I turn my head to the stairs that lead up from the concourse.

There, sat halfway up the stairs, was a gigantic filthy homeless woman who resembled nothing less than a recently dug-up potato in a skirt. Legs akimbo, she was cooling her fetid mimsy in the afternoon breeze.

I now take the escalator.
(Thu 28th May 2009, 13:56, More)